


I knew that sullen hall

by pearwaldorf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drowning, Gen, Mass Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 05:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: Aziraphale takes a long breath, runs a finger through the condensation on his glass, very carefully not looking at Rainier. “I wish I could say I don’t know what that’s like,” he says quietly.“You don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t intend to make this a confessional.” Rainier’s tone is soft, and it makes him want to laugh a little. He’s not usually on the other end of these ministrations.





	I knew that sullen hall

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to V for looking this over <3

It seemed that out of battle I escaped  
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped  
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,  
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.  
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared  
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,  
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.  
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—  
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

\--from [Strange Meeting](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47395/strange-meeting) by Wilfred Owen

* * *

It’s mid-afternoon by the time Aziraphale steps into the pub. He’s been running errands all day, and intended on rewarding himself with a glass of wine and a hearty bolognese. That plan gets scuttled as soon as his eye falls on the man sitting at the bar.

He’s in his early 50s, black hair just starting to thread with white. His build speaks to a life spent doing intense physical work, and the beginnings of a paunch indicating it’s not something he’s been doing lately. He’s also radiating pain and misery so strongly Aziraphale is surprised it didn’t knock him over when he entered.

Whatever his affiliation (or lack thereof) now, Aziraphale is still an angel. If there is comfort or counsel he can provide, he is happy to do so. He slips into a chair next to the man, who turns to look at him.

“There’s only two reasons a person comes to a pub at this time of day: either to drink alone or hope somebody shows up so you can drink together. So what’s your poison?”

The man makes a noise Aziraphale finally concludes is probably amusement. He motions the bartender over and Aziraphale orders a Guinness. When it’s delivered and he’s had a drink, the man gives him a look.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but I hope you don’t make a habit of trolling pubs looking for sad bastards to talk to.” His voice is baritone, his vowels indicating origins from the north.

Aziraphale chuckles. “That’s much more in my partner’s purview. He is of the opinion it’s much more efficient to give people a nudge in a direction they were already thinking of heading.”

The man grunts. “Can’t fault his logic. Always something in it for appealing to people’s lesser natures.”

“It sounds like you have some experience with that, Mr…?”

“Just Thom. Thom Rainier.” He extends his hand.

Aziraphale shakes it. “Ezra.”

“A good name,” he says. “Bit old-fashioned though. Passed down from a relative?”

Aziraphale’s mouth twitches. “I guess you could say that. My mother did always want me to be helpful and kind.”

"I see you live up to it."

Aziraphale tilts his head. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“You seem willing to listen. That’s not nothing.” Rainier takes another drink. “And I know it sounds silly, but you’ve got a feel about you. Like I could tell you things.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale has worked hard to tamp down the angelic aura, as it very much detracts from intimidating people from the bookstore. But apparently it still comes out when it thinks it’s needed.

Rainier looks at him, like he’s trying to divine something from Aziraphale’s face. “Have you ever been a soldier?”

“Once, a very long time ago. I can’t say I miss it.”

He nods, like that was the answer he expected. “Then you know what it’s like: shut up, do what you’re ordered, if you needed to know that I would have told you already.” Aziraphale is unsurprised but disappointed some things remain the same.

“Hopefully it was for a good cause? Something that made the bothersome things worth it?” (He believed he was doing the right thing at the time. Maybe he still does. It’s not something he’s tried to interrogate much in the aeons since.)

Rainier laughs bitterly. “I was a gun for hire, and I was good at it. Mostly it was babysitting work: protect shipping containers from pirates, guard convoys. Turn away desperate people with nothing risking their lives for a little bit of something, anything; hope you scare ‘em away before you have to kill them.” There’s deep shame and loathing in his voice, and Aziraphale aches at it.

“It doesn’t appear to be something you’re doing anymore. So what changed?”

He takes a drink. “Do you believe in redemption, Ezra?”

Well then. “It is grossly unfair, in general, to not give someone a chance to prove they’ve changed.”

“But is there something you think a person could do, something so terrible they could never come back from it?”

He thinks of the Morningstar, how bright and beautiful he was, even in rebellion. And he thinks of Crowley, who only wanted to know more and was cast out for it.

"I think that depends on individual circumstances," he says carefully.

“There was a village.” His voice is flat. “We were told a high value target was there. Our job was to take care of him, so we did. Turned out he had nothing to do with anything, and his family was in there with him.”

Aziraphale takes a long breath, runs a finger through the condensation on his glass, very carefully not looking at Rainier. “I wish I could say I don’t know what that’s like,” he says quietly.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t intend to make this a confessional.” Rainier’s tone is soft, and it makes him want to laugh a little. He’s not usually on the other end of these ministrations.

“I think it might be necessary. It is, unsurprisingly, a topic I avoid thinking about at great length or detail.”

Rainier makes an understanding noise. “Welcome to the club. It’s shit to be here.” He raises his glass, and they toast grimly.

“So what happened?”

“There was also a village. Many of them, in fact. My superiors knew there was an imminent flood that would devastate the area. I was ordered not to warn the residents, because those above me thought the world would be better off without them.” He thought a few millennia would have dulled the shame by now, but he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed to find out it did not. “I think it was the worst when they prayed. Nobody was coming for them, but they begged regardless.”

“Fucking hell.” There is a a whole world of emotion in the exclamation: horror, sympathy, empathy.

_Actually no, it was Heaven that time,_ Aziraphale thinks. What dramatic irony.

“I should have listened to my friend. He had the bead of them long before I had the hint of a clue. He was suspicious of them from the beginning.” Crowley tried so hard to make Aziraphale see, and it only took the imminent Apocalypse for the scales to finally drop.

“Still. You were just following orders.”

“That’s not an excuse! I may not have killed them myself, but I bear responsibility for their deaths nonetheless.” It does not feel better to say it out loud, but then again, he has no idea if bleeding poison from a wound actually lessens the pain before it heals.

“No,” Rainier says. There is steel behind the word. “I tell you it’s absolutely not the same, because I was the one who gave the orders.”

“Oh, god.”

“Authorities got wind of it, my CO killed himself to avoid responsibility, and I ran. My men took the fall for me.” He takes a long drink, as if he could drown the memories through sheer force of will.

Aziraphale projects as much gentleness in his voice as he knows how. “That is a heinous and dishonorable thing you did. But you know that, and any judgment I could express you have probably already rendered upon yourself.”

Rainier was definitely not expecting that, the way his eyes widen. “That is… perceptive. And kind, probably more than I deserve.”

“We have all hurt people, Thom. What matters is how we make amends.”

He groans. “That’s the problem. I thought leaving Thom Rainier out of the equation was the best thing to do.”

Oh dear. “What happened?”

“I talked to some people, made someone else. An honorable man who kept his word, with a record to show that. A person who would intervene if they saw somebody being hurt. A man who wasn’t a coward or a monster. So I stepped into Gordon Blackwall’s shoes and found myself another job.”

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, I find it difficult to believe people would call you ‘Gordon’.”

Rainier laughs. “I didn’t pick the name, believe me. But Blackwall became my second skin, and it was easy to pretend, at least for a little while, my troubles were behind me. Especially when I met Bethy.”

“And who is Bethy?”

Rainier’s expression transforms into one that Crowley would dismissively refer to as “besotted”, except that every time he does smiles a little bit, especially when in reference to Aziraphale. “She’s my boss, at the Inquisition.”

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows.

“‘S not actually what it’s called, of course. It’s a stupid nickname for the organization’s headquarters because it’s an old fortress of some sort. The proper name is the Skyhold Foundation.”

Aziraphale remembers hearing some things about it: a mysterious private charity with an emphasis on infrastructure investment in poor countries. Its deep pockets allow it to fund work in many places other NGOs won’t touch, but there are always accusations of more ulterior motives beneath the good deeds.

If this Inquisition is Skyhold-- “Your partner is Elisabet Cadash.” Of the mobster Cadashes, who she turned on in exchange for control of a large part of the family fortune. Aziraphale has no opinion on the use of ill-gotten money to fund desperately needed projects that will ease suffering people’s lives, but he can see how others would find it distasteful. Of the woman herself he knows nothing, only that she is loved deeply by the man in front of him.

Rainier nods.

“Does she know about your past?”

He shakes his head. “One of my men, the trial got stuck in the courts and they finally got everything wrapped up. The sentencing is next week.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Turn myself in, face the consequences. I can’t let him take the punishment for me.”

“I meant about telling her. Are you going to disappear into thin air one night, wait for her to find out about it from the news?” He looks sharply at Rainier, and from the way he shrinks a little Aziraphale guesses it was something he was considering.

“How am I going to face her? The man she thinks she knows doesn’t exist.”

“Let me ask you a question, then. Does she love you?”

“Yes,” he says almost immediately. “I’m not worthy of it, not one bit, but she does.”

“Then not all of what she knows is a lie. If she is amenable, you can build on that.”

Rainier looks like he’d rather do anything else than talk to his partner, but Aziraphale does not feel his resolve waver.

He places his hand on Rainier’s shoulder. “We choose the faces we present to the world, my friend, and sometimes they become us more than we expected. It sounds like you have a great deal of practice being Blackwall, and I know some of that will help you be a better Thom Rainier.”

“Let’s hope so.” He puts down money for their drinks and gets up. Already he seems lighter, more calm.

“Are you going to tell her?”

He nods. “Everything, no matter how much it hurts or shames me. She deserves to know the whole truth of it.”

Aziraphale plants a small blessing in his heart, just enough to bolster his fortitude when he wavers, comfort when it becomes too much to handle. “Good.”

He turns to head for the door, but stops. “So, about making amends for your past actions. How are you doing that?”

Aziraphale thinks for a moment. “By taking the side of the people I should have, from the beginning. Watching out for them, protecting them when needed. And listening to my friend.”

Rainier nods, like he’s satisfied with the answer, and clasps Aziraphale’s hand in both of his. “I don’t know what luck I had or what angel sent you my way, Ezra, but I thank you for listening, and for your advice.”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow. You already knew what you needed to do. I just gave you a little push,” Aziraphale demurs. It turns out that one can give a person enough rope to hang themselves with, but also enough that they can figure out how to climb out of a hole. He vastly prefers this application.

“Regardless, thank you again. I’ll never forget what you did for me today.”

Rainier leaves, and it’s just Aziraphale and the bartender.

He finishes his drink and heads home. Crowley is sprawled on the couch in their flat, listening to music and doing something on his phone.

When Crowley hears him come in he pulls out an earbud. “Thought you’d have been home much earlier. What happened?”

“Somebody was in need of a kind ear, so I provided one.”

“That was good of you,” he replies, going back to his phone. “Setting people on the path and all that.”

“He knew the direction he was travelling, my dear. I just gave him a little push.”

\--

About a month or so later, Aziraphale comes across a small item in the back of the world news column. Apparently the Skyhold Foundation has announced an expansion of its initiatives to include services and support for the wrongfully accused and imprisoned. The impetus for the expansion was not given, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Bethy is [Bethroot Cadash](https://archiveofourown.org/series/185906), my friend thievinghippo's Blackwall-mancing Inquisitor, albeit a slightly different version. There is an especial delight in experiencing a romance you would otherwise not be interested in through somebody else's eyes, and I am glad she's given me that opportunity.


End file.
